On the Liberating Effects of Alcohol: an ME2 Short
by Firaga Bird
Summary: John Shepard: Commander of the Normandy, Survivor of Mindoir, Awardee of the Star of Terra, Hero of the Citadel, Savior, Model, Icon... There's a heavy burden on his shoulders, and a loneliness he can tell no one. Or is there? Language, Suggestive Themes.
1. The Drinking

**On the Liberating Effects of Alcohol: a Mass Effect 2 Interlude**

a Short Story Featuring John Shepard and Tali'Zorah vas Normandy

Part 1

**Pre-Body**

* * *

I'm changing up my usual format in favor of evoking a sense of seamlessness and almost calculating atmosphere. I'm not one for being inconsistent, no matter what I'm doing, but I'm thinking the context of what I'm doing justifies it somewhat. All text embellishments et al will be tracked through the Legends as usual. Whenever Shepard is thinking (he'll be the only person whose mind can be peered into), I won't break into a new paragraph, because his and the narrator's thoughts are parallel, just in different levels of awareness. I'll still break text with more than one speaker into the appropriate lines, though.

**Legend**

* * *

"speech"

_Shepard's thoughts_

**Body**

* * *

Commander Shepard was uncomfortable with the current circumstances. Scanning the room once more - one more time than he knew was necessary, but surrendered to the indulgence of being doubly sure - and taking into account the numerous phenomena that currently inhabited the immediate vicinity, the marine hesitantly cast his gaze widely at the scene of utter disorder surrounding him while letting out a sigh that he knew should have remained stuck in his throat. _This is not what I had in mind when I allowed my crew on a shore leave. This is yet another mistake in my foreplanning I'm not willing to commit a second time._

In fact, he decided the moment this event had begun that it was a mistake he would have given anything not to have committed in the first place. Wherever he looked, the Commander saw only chaos. The large function room - one of the many expensive, fully booked private spaces in Illium he took great personal pains to reserve ahead of time - was littered with drunken bodies either lying down or feverishly defying their body's natural desire to fall over in, physically pulsing their limbs and heads to the beats of what he was assured was music blaring through the loudspeakers. _At least I made the right choice of picking the one room with soundproofing._

He squinted his eyes as he continued his observations. Silently, the man wished at that moment that his eyesight were sharper and his hearing duller. It was difficult just seeing where his hands were given the dimmed house lights, and what illumination there was he figured was not designed to improve visibility of a room. Several beams of colored light waved around the space in frantic and erratic motions, mimicking those of the inebriated partygoers he almost doubted were the same colleagues he entered the room with. He could, at best, see snapshots of this alien environment - _or at least alien to my senses_ - and the frozen and deliberately tantalizing poses of several particularly frenzied dancers as they grunted and grinded themselves onto people the soldier knew for a fact were little more than strangers to them.

As the irritating electronica of disharmonic tunes continued pounding at his skull, Shepard continued what he started. With no little effort, he picked out several outstanding details - faces, items, contained events - from the sea of primal desire and irrational behavior displaying itself to him. If no order could be made of the rest, the Ex-Spectre would have it in his thoughts. _3 o'clock_ - he turned his head to his right -_ Engineers Kenneth and Gabrielle are bonding, each with a beverage in one hand. Two fifteen: Jacob and Miranda are holding each other in less than professional ways; I'll have to confirm a nagging suspicion regarding their history. 2 o-clock: Grunt's staring at the Cerberus operatives with an expression I can deduce to be the Krogan equivalent of amusement._

He worked his gaze counter-clockwise, crossing his arms and noting a rather large pile of empty liquor containers haphazardly occupying a spacious patch of floor to the side. _One thirty: someone seems to have created a makeshift bar and lounge; Mordin's sitting on a stool and likely reading one of those manuals he keeps giving interracial couples on the ship. Half past twelve: Joker's having a card game with Kelly on a well-furnished semicircular sofa; from his expression, the poor guy looks like he's gambling with his salary... and losing._ The Commander had to pause at that one to allow himself a smirk. The Normandy's pilot was one of the wittiest, most strong-willed people he had known in the galaxy - which meant a lot, coming from a "Star of Terra" laureate - and he was also very skilled. Unfortunately, luck wasn't on his list of advantages, especially when it concerned his personal wellbeing. _He's still living down the rumor made after EDI decided to let slip just __**what**__ was coming out of his earpiece._

_11 o'clock: Thane and Samara are near the center of the- what?_ The Commander was caught by surprise when he noticed the two joining in the spontaneously conceived spirit of the occasion, even despite the darkness he knew both were still plagued with. The drell assassin, father and widower - and currently under the influence - seemed to have convinced the Justicar to accompany him on the dance floor. Thane was moving his arms and torso in very fluid motions that somehow managed to follow the rythm of the music despite his slow pace, a fact that seemed to attract the wandering eyes of a few female admirers, sober or otherwise. The marine noticed his lips moving, and armed with prior knowledge of both basic Drell language and mouth-reading, he translated a phrase that unwittingly caused him to blink: "Do my actions please you, _siha_?"

Shepard knew the term: it was one of rather intimate endearment. For one as deliberate and disconnected as Thane, he deduced the implications as he silently continued watching the pair. He fixed his gaze at the asari, predicting her general reaction based on what he had already known about the two. Rather than speaking, however, Samara decided to put her reply into actions and proceeded to reciprocate the drell's rather forward advances with her own body movements. An eyebrow raised on the Ex-Spectre's face as she closed what little gap remained of the couple's bodies, and began pressing herself onto her companion's scaly hide with such equal amounts of poise and desire that hinted at her lifestyle before submitting to the Code - a creed that seemed to grow that much more distant from the Matriarch's mind with each stroke of her thinly veiled skin on his - each caress of her probing hands.

_The celebrations continue to bring my crew to new heights of irrationality_. The stonefaced man closed his eyes and shook his head lightly. As much as he disliked showing his true thoughts through any form of body gesture, he decided that he couldn't help himself. _This is really not what I had in mind at all._ It wasn't that the marine was adverse to relaxing and letting go of long-held tension; that was both reasonable and healthy for the average impossible odds-beating, genocidal machine-busting Joe, on Cerberus' payroll or otherwise. What he couldn't seem to appreciate in such a carefree way was the manner in which his fellow defenders of the galaxy decided to go about "relaxing". _How can people really enjoy themselves by dancing to loud music, drinking themselves to a stupor, and not giving a damn about being unaware of any external threats in their weakened state of vulnerability?_

Alas, that was the root of John Shepard's problem. The hero of the Citadel, the victor of the Collector threat, the awardee of the highly vaunted Star of Terra, was a man forged on the belief that every situation provided a non-insignificant number of possibilities of danger. No matter the time, place or person, there was always some way one could let his guard down, only to be viciously attacked by some form of enemy, tangible or unseen. _A human being, or any other being for that matter, is an imperfect creature that always struggles for its existence. Every loss of control is an invitation to your enemies. Every gesture can and will be used against you by opportunists. Every __**mistake **__in your life will destroy some part of you in some way._ Slowly, the man who humanity and the rest of civilization put on his shoulders opened his eyes, feeling every single ounce of his burden weigh against him mercilessly, like a raptor patiently waiting for a sign of weakness to strike him down. He would **not** give it the opportunity. "Never again."

"Who're you ta-**hic**-lking to, Sh-Shepard?" The slurred voice of a nearby presence immediately brought the Commander to full awareness, snapping his head towards the direction of the speaker. It was Jack. "Ya know, I wuz pretty fu-**hic**-ckin' mad atcha when you tu-, turned down my offer t' sex you up down 'n my hide-a-way that wu, that **wu**, that one n-**hic**-ight. Aw crap." The barely clothed biotic in front of him half-covered her mouth as she let out a bellowing burp, and the heavy smell of alien-branded alcohol invaded the marine's senses in an unpleasant manner. He tilted his head to the side as the woman began laughing aloud, almost dropping the beverage that was in her other hand. "Goddamn - that felt goo-ood. Mm... So anyway, back ta wut I was say-**hic**-ing. Ya never left my mind af, after that night, ya know, and I just wantcha ta know that I'm still up fer givin' ya the galaxy's _wildest, roughest __**fu**_-"

Jack was immediately assaulted from behind before she had the opportunity to finish that last remark, a tackle that the battle-hardened soldier noticed from the corner of his eye and sidestepped. Had he been unaware of the fact that no one aside from the Normandy crew and a few other handpicked individuals were present in the room, he would surely have pulled her to the side as well before proceeding to aggressively ascertain the identity and purpose of the tattooed woman's attacker. But he was no blindly impulsive fool; his suspicions on who the person was were shortly confirmed.

"Come back here, ya wild animal! I didn't tell ya that you could slip away from the galaxy's best hunter, now did I?"

"Oh, shut up Zaeed! Jus' cuz I'm wasted and yer horny duzzn't mean th' I'm let-**hic**-ting ya stick that _pistol _inta my _holster_."

"Who said anything about asking for anyone's damn permission? I got a boner harder than a diamond, and I'm looking to carve you from the _inside out_."

"...I luvvit when ya talk dirty."

As the second odd couple of the night forced themselves upon each other, falling down in their drunkenness in the heat of liquid passion, Shepard carefully walked away with the intent of finding a better location to keep his self-control in check when so many apparently allowed their own to drown in liquor. _The room itself feels like it's losing the will to remain an innocent object of the world, what with the oppressive atmosphere. If I didn't know who or what was in charge of the controls, I would have to suspect EDI._ The Commander nimbly slipped through the throngs of dancing or otherwise collapsing masses of flesh and bone, acutely aware of the hot, humid air threatening to choke him in the vapors of spirits and sweat. No matter what obstacle hindered the soldier and tempted to arouse him to aggravation, however, he would keep his composure. He wouldn't give anyone an opening, a weakness to leverage. His face hardened, and he lightly pushed an off-balance dancer back to her center of gravity, leaving an open cavity behind when the embarassed partygoer turned around to give her gratitude.

After a few moments of absently displaying small acts of kindness on his way to a new spot - catching a toppling glass in mid fall, temporarily paralyzing the arm of a wasted crewmember trying to be a little too forward to an Asari guest, slapping a crying Salarian into sobriety - the marine noticed a single chair seemingly pushed by the wayside, near a flight of steps that led to a fairly unpopulated plateau of floor space. He couldn't have asked for a better vantage point. Giving a small nod of approval, he grabbed the chair with a hand and ascended to the miniature mezzanine, placing it in its new, elevated position. He figured that sitting down was a better idea than aimlessly observing the crowds. It had taken him a while, but Shepard finally conceded defeat to reality: there was no system among the chaos of the party, no method behind the madness of the music. They danced, they drank, they touched and kissed and let go of themselves to feel better. "Perhaps I wasn't meant to understand."

That may have been an acurate statement, it may have even been true. _That doesn't make it sting less whenever I think about it._ The great Commander of the most advanced ship in the known galaxy had come to realize one painful weakness he simply could not overcome solely with the power of thought: loneliness. His mind was the one reason that he was still alive to this day, the most valuable asset that he took great lengths to exercise and hone to near perfection. He needed it more than anything. _Apparently, even more then my life._ There was no way the Lazarus Project could have succeeded had they not discovered the man's brain almost entirely intact, and some reports even mentioned how, when they began operating on him, they noticed almost imperceivable electrical signals firing in the organ before even touching it. Living a life where one had to account for every conceivable threat and learn how to counter it did indeed have its benefits... _but how I prepared for death with the impossible odds of resurrection is another story_.

Yes, his mind was how he remained alive, and also how he lived. His average day was a series of events, all planned out from the first waking minute to the last conscious hour, with every meticulously planned event analyzed for mistakes and adjusted in realtime to account for new variables, a shift of status quo, and even the discovery of unknown and otherwise unrelated events. _I don't even want to get started how pissed off I was at Wrex when he practically threw that damn Thresher Maw at me._ And he didn't even nearly get into a fight with his old friend because, well, because it was a **Thresher Maw** - it was because he felt his trust betrayed when the current head of the Urdnot Clan casually omitted that little fact with the full knowledge of how the marine prepared for battle. _Like he was deliberately trying to mess with my foreplanning_. In hindsight, he shouldn't have gotten as upset as he did about it, but more than he cared to admit was the fact that the well-meaning krogan was one of the few he had felt comfortable enough to trust, and to have that sort of intangible bond tested, even just a little and out of good faith, even when Wrex knew he could handle himself...

_That is what sets me apart. That perspective in life is what blesses me and curses me at the same time._ During wartime, when the objectives of the mission were clear, Shepard thrived. He was the Commander. He was the N7 marine that single-handedly defended a position that no one else thought could be held during an invasion no one else expected could be thwarted. He was the Spectre that brought down an indoctrinated rogue comrade. He was a hero of worlds, the hope of sentient life... _But when there __**is**__ no mission?_ When no enemies were visible, when they were indistinguishable from the innocent, and the innocent could so easily be wolves in sheep's clothing? Shepard upheld one rule, one which he would never break, no matter what the price was: _I never get innocents involved. Ever._ _If_ he gave up that one principle in his life, he would be no better than Saren, or the Geth. As it stood, however, his mentality alienated him already. _No one understands. No one appreciates their own ignorance, their lack of awareness. They wouldn't understand me, and it's only fair to say that I wouldn't understand others as well._

Shepard leaned forward from his seat, taking a deep breath. He thought of many things during the day. He would look at a room and pinpoint the areas of weakness, the potential spots useful in an espionage mission. _And Thane was wrong; there were __**15**__ weak points._ He would glance at a person, analyzing his or her body language and tone of voice, judging in an instant what strengths and weaknesses that person had should he find himself in a fight with that being. He would speak to someone, absorbing all the information he could get while exuding a personality that his conversation partner desired, found calming. He memorized everything worth remembering, filing the traits of every person he had ever met in his mind, always ready to rely upon that knowledge at a moment's notice. Shepard lived and breathed survival for so long that he could live no other way. _I guess it's a trade, to have to live a lie that others want to see me as - being a hero, being a savior, being an icon - in order to achieve the common good. To achieve the benefit of organic existence._

He looked upon the entire event from his new angle of observation. The crowds seemed to continue their lively intermingling, oblivious to the brooding of a single man. _And why would they? They're happy, and I'm grateful. I've given them what they want; a friend's advice in times of trouble, a helping hand in times of doubt, a message of victory in times of darkness. By all rights, they deserve this celebration. And I get what I deserve, too. I should feel better about what I've done for them, what we've accomplished._ But he knew it wasn't enough. For him, it still felt lacking. He wanted to scold himself. He was being _selfish_. _I'm just one man. It doesn't matter what I want, especially if it interferes with the wellbeing of anyone else. Dammit, I'm just one man._ The more he repeated this simple fact in his mind, the more Shepard felt the tugging of a longing he knew would never be sated pulling at his heart: he was still lonely.

A slight pressure on his shoulder almost caused the soldier to jump in his seat, wincing at the thought that he was caught unaware. Again. "Shepard," a filtered voice came from his side, and he looked at the cause of the pressure. What he saw was a gloved, three-fingered hand, a sight that brought some measure of comfort to him. "You shouldn't be up here. Alone. Why aren't you having fun with everyone else down on the dance floor?"

The Commander raised his gaze, absently following the slender fingers and hand of the fully-suited Quarian, tracing the markings along her arm sleeve, before locking his eyes onto the pair of shining circles that hid mere millimeters behind her head visor. _Time to don another mask for the greater good._ "Geez, Tali, you scared me," he replied in a deliberately apologetic tone, giving her a grin and a chuckle. "I could have sworn you just popped out of the wall; I never noticed you sneaking by."

Her reply was quick. "You're avoiding the question, Commander. What are you doing here?" Her voice had a quality Shepard never noticed in it before, and that meant that was the first time she had ever spoken to him in that way. His facade of innocent humor faltered slightly as he accounted for this new, unexpected variable. Her hand gave him a soft squeeze; he enjoyed the feeling. "A man like you shouldn't be wasting away up here. Alone."

"What can I say?" he smoothly said, raising a hand up at an angle he learned indicated casual indifference. "The music's pretty loud, the dancers have a tough time keeping their hands to themselves... Losing my senses in booze and women don't seem like my idea of having a good time." He flashed a warm smile at his companion. He wasn't lying to her, but his body language was; he disliked any form of obstructions to his self-control, a driving motivation behind his decision to become as tolerant as humanly possible to many mind-altering substances, not the least of which included alcohol of any race-brand, of any toxicity level. He made sure not to display anything other than feigned irritation, though. "But you're here now, so I guess I'm not alone anymore, huh?"

Tali gave a soft chuckle, but unlike those the soldier had previously heard from her. It was a deep, almost seductive rumbling of her diaphragm that vibrated through the hand on his shoulder and caused a physical reaction in him that he was unable to keep in check. He felt his cheeks slightly redden, and immediately willed the blood to return to their rightful places in dismay. _Damn._ "That's right. And I like it. That I'm the one keeping you company. Just me." She slid her hand further down his back, leaning into a sitting position, and it took all of the marine's willpower to keep every single "physical reaction" that suddenly decided to occur at the same time from replying to the body whose supple bottom just landed on one of his thighs. _**Crap**_. "Now _we're_ alone, Shepard. Just me... and you. And here I am, resting on your body. What are you going to do, _Commander_...?"

_To Be  
Continued_

**Post-Body**

* * *

By the way, I almost forgot. For all you writers out there, EDI as a character has recently been added to the Mass Effect Character Selection list, so if you're making any stories with her in it, by all means use it. And spread the word. Everyone's favorite AI (besides Legion) is selectable as a character!


	2. The Touching

**On the Liberating Effects of Alcohol: a Mass Effect 2 Interlude**

a Short Story Featuring John Shepard and Tali'Zorah vas Normandy

Part 2

**Pre-Body**

* * *

Edited the first chapter slightly. It's nothing major; I just made some words better and fixed some punctuation inconsistencies. I feel comfortable with the streamlined approach to formatting my story. The point was to make the story itself emphasized, and to give readers a sense of a flowing idea as the plot progresses.

I also edited this chapter after going over it again. I found a plothole and fixed it, and added some depth to Shepard's interaction with Garrus. The rest are minor diction and grammar corrections. Nothing to worry about.

**Legend**

* * *

"speech"

_Shepard's thoughts_

**Body**

* * *

Shepard was having his multitasking capabilities put to the test. At any given moment, He always kept several factors of the environment in mind - oxygen levels, life-threatening airborne substances, the status and purpose of each sentient presence - not to mention constantly monitoring his own vital signs and meticulously engineered facade. During battle or when exploring hostile territory, the Commander took even more variables into consideration, memorizing every enemy's and ally's position on the field and where they would be at a given moment in the future, recalling the precise number of medigel canisters and thermal clips in stock, all while formulating an ever-changing plan of action and informing each relevant squad member of it. Every breathing second of his life was filled with high levels of mental exertion, a constant exercise that he had grown used to by now... but never before had the great Hero of Humanity felt himself in a more demanding psychological situation than that which faced him now.

"You know, Shepard, I've always been looking at you." Tali'Zorah vas Normandy purred out through her mouthpiece; the filtered sound it made combined with her sultry tone of voice to produce a tingling jolt that ran down the soldier's spine. He struggled to resist the reflexive twitch that tickled his left eye. "When you saved me from Fist's betrayal and I first set my eyes on your masculine body in action, I knew I had begun an addiction I would never be cured from." The quarian's gloved hand stroked his back tenderly, tracing the contours of his well-defined muscles with a sense of admiration. He inwardly chided himself for wearing attire of such a thin fabric; Every caress sent another wave of sensation through his body. "Every single time you visited me in my old place back during Saren's hunt, I deliberately yapped away more than I should have whenever you asked me something, just so I could marvel at your beautiful form for just an extra minute. I _savored_ it."

Beads of sweat slowly began forming on the Commander's forehead, a reaction that he could barely suppress from occurring. The air was hot, humid and filled with fumes of whatever everyone was drinking; Shepard could even make out a trace of ryncol wafting from somewhere. He had a difficult time keeping focus of such things, but assigned more mental resources to maintain awareness of his surroundings. _Stay in control, dammit._ He chuckled with a measured flippancy accentuating it, maintaining his self-created mask of a personality amidst the temptation to falter. "I never really could guess what you were looking at, with that visor and all." He responded in a light tone of voice, holding in the waver that dared to escape his lips. "At least someone other than yours truly appreciated the extra hours in the gym I punched in." _Humor in the midst of unknown social situations. It's effectivity is temporary. I need to act indifferent to her advances. I need to ascertain the cause of Tali's severe change of disposition. And quickly._

"You're _very_ welcome, Shepard," came the woman that had placed herself so nonchalantly on his lap, the light that seemed to radiate from her eyes being reduced to a semi-circle. _Her eyelids lowered._ "Unfortunately, I wasn't alone in my addiction for consuming your overpowering presence. _Williams_ and _T'Soni_ took it upon their slutty selves to grab your attention as well. _Them_." There was a heavy tinge of disdain that colored her reference of the other two females aboard the original Normandy, as if Tali felt dirty even recalling those names. "Those disloyal bosh'tets that fawned all over you like little schoolgirls. Who didn't even have the _decency_ to return to you when you so generously offered it to them. Their stupid 'agendas' and 'duties' blinded them so completely that they forgot just _who you were_. They turned you down in your time of need. They didn't care about your feelings. They **never** cared."

Shepard's eyebrows raised at the quarian's considerably hateful remarks regarding her previous squadmates. He was truly taken by surprise at her words and couldn't help but inquire further. "You can't be that angry at them, can you?" Though mostly deliberate, he voiced a genuine concern for the quarian. "Ash told me that she wasn't pursuing a relationship when I asked about it, and I always thought Liara just mixed up her excitement over finding a walking 'Prothean artifact'. I guess they may have liked me more than just as a witty, fun-loving commanding officer-" _I'm lying through my teeth. I knew precisely how they viewed me as, and it upset me to have to turn them down._ "-but it was my decision to talk with them like I did, so it's really my fault that I sounded like I shared their feelings. And their missions were very important; I knew it was a longshot to hope they would drop what life they had made for themselves in the two years since-"

"Stop it." His attempts of convincing the behavior-altered woman to accept his side of matters was promptly interrupted with a firm voice. He realized then that it was the first time someone actually cut _him_ off in the middle of a sentence. Discerning the significance of the phenomenon was a task filed at the back of his head. He'd make time for it in the future; there were more pressing matters to attend to. _Such as discerning the cause of the phenomenon sitting on my lap._ "Just, no. **No**. Don't do that, Shepard. Don't defend those whores. Don't _protect_ them from the harsh reality, from the _truth_. They don't _deserve_ it." Tali's hands came up to his face, cupping his cheeks with her palms and bringing her face closer to his. She lowered her voice, speaking just above a whisper. "They don't deserve _you._ You're too good for them, Shepard."

Her face was no more than two or three inches from him, a fact that he was acutely aware of. He could hear her somewhat labored, filtered breathing blow gently into his ear from her mouthpiece. He knew that the circular button below a quarian's visor wasn't merely meant for speaking; it served to directly transfer and filter air that went into their lungs, and it worked both ways. Reminding himself of that fact, however, made Shepard no less relieved as the warm, moist breaths that had surfaced from his companion's unseen orifice gently lapped at the side of his face. His cheeks reddened for the second time of the night, but this time he'd allowed it - his body was at a level of stimulation that the blood needed to be released somewhere, and having it flow into the alternative location of effect would be rather... _compromising_.

There was one advantage to being so close to Tali's face, however. "But let's stop talking about other people. Let's not talk depressing things." More specifically, there was a benefit to feeling the quarian's breath. "Let's talk about you. Let's talk about me." The reason for this was that being close enough for the moistness of her exhaled air to register on his skin... "Let's talk about _us_." ...also meant that he was close enough to inhale it. "_Together_." Which further implied that he could dissect the various scents that inhabited her lungs. "I want us to be closer." Among the various other alien aromas - none the least of which was the strangely intoxicating scent he researched to be natural to her species... "I want _you_. On _top_ of _me_." ...was the distinctly **un**natural scent of intoxication. "_Right __**now**_."

Realization of the main cause of the quarian's totally uncharacteristic behavior dawned on him like a slap to the face. _I thought so; Tali's drunk. Dammit, I should have known better._ And Shepard would have come to that obvious conclusion much sooner had he not been, in less vulgar terms, "distracted" from his thoughts. The clues were all there for him to put together: the general disposition of most partygoers, the main mode of celebration, the severe lack of dextro-amino dishes and drinks, and Tali's drastically _forward_ behavior, as opposed to the thoughtful, timid creature the Commander had come to know and lo-_ok up to as a staunch ally and loyal friend._

Was this really how quarians acted under the influence, though? Did they normally get this uninhibited during the celebration of victories, during the consumption of alcohol? And why wasn't she slurring her speech or portraying other signs of being under the influence? Shepard cursed inwardly; he should have spent more time familiarizing himself with her species' physiology. _Instead, I had ended up getting dragged into a game of Skyllian Five by Kenneth. At least now I can proceed to-_ "_**Commander**_."

Suddenly, the majority of the marine's higher level thought processes encountered a fatal error and promptly began shutting down the moment Tali brought her hand to his midsection, softly purring into his ear with delight at the reflexive jerk his body made. And it was crawling lower. _Oh, __**sh-**_ "T-Tali," he stammered in a state of shock, his eyes widening as he felt his vaunted self-control evaporate faster than water in a pond on the surface of Haestrom. "What are you doing? Stop that right now!"

"Shut up, Shepard," the quarian calmly retorted. "You've guided me throughout all our time together for so long. You comforted me when I found my dad lying dead in his own blood. You defended me and saved me from exile when no one else went against the ruling of the High Admirals. It has always been you giving me everything; it was always you bringing me happiness." _This isn't right. This can't be just inebriation. Something else has to be in her system, guiding her words and her... hand. _"But not tonight. Tonight, you don't have to lift a finger." _But what is it?_ "Tonight, I'm bringing **you** to happiness." _Think; what is it!?_

"...are you?"

Shepard numbly noticed the predatory quarian blinking as a faint voice called out from beyond the platform. "Tali, where are you?" Despite being in an encumbered state, he also managed to hear the slightly muffled cry over the music, and refocused all of his attention onto it as an anchor holding the distressed man onto logical reality. Clinging onto what loyal thought processes remained with him, he poured all his attention into discovering the owner of the voice. "Are you over here?"

"That stupid bosh'tet." With noticeable reluctance, Tali summoned back her probing fingers which were mere inches away from its ultimate goal, eliciting a small sigh from Shepard as she placed it on his shoulder. "Interrupting our friendly conversation." The slowly recovering soldier held in a bitter chuckle. _Friendly. It's an interesting choice of words._

"Come on, Tali, where are you?" the voice continued stubbornly. _Who is he? Voice signature definitely male. Tone isn't wavering, clarity is good; he isn't drunk... probably._ Shepard's mind began to return to its normal state of activity, and his reasoning was improving. _Judging from the pitch modulation in combination with the humidity and air pressure, the voice is synthesized. It's being translated. He's alien._ His speed of thinking was accelerating, and the formerly ragged, hastened breathing of his slender companion seemed to crawl almost to a standstill. _There are twenty-four non-humans in the function room. None of the guests know Tali's name or is familiar enough with her to call her so casually. That leaves my squad. Five males. Grunt was too busy observing Miranda and Jacob touching each other intimately. Thane was too busy __**doing**__ the touching. Mordin was preoccupied with his interspecies intercourse manuals. Legion doesn't even count, but his voice is monotonous anyway. One logical conclusion._

As the soldier opened his eyes, he observed the world around him moving faster. He had come off an adrenaline rush, and the sounds of celebration and a frustrated quarian returned to the forefront of his senses. So did his grossly improbable but somehow actual situation. Unless he wanted to lose his senses a second time, Shepard needed to act quickly. Inhaling the intoxicating fumes of booze and the strong, musky scent of quarian passion, he launched his own distress call to the wandering turian. "She's right here, Garru-Mmf!"

A gloved hand quickly cut his reply short. "Shh! Do you want him to find us!?" Tali pressed herself closer to the Ex-Spectre's perspiring body in despair, and he was introduced to the sensation of soft, rubbery fabric stroking his moist skin roughly. "He's already ruined the mood that we had. He'll probably try to ruin my opportunity to make you _happy_!" With senses heightened through conditioning, he became aware of the tense, hardened muscles that covered the suited woman's abdomen, and became especially cognizant of the pair of soft mounds of flesh making themselves painfully known to the marine. Shepard was getting _compromised._ "I can make you _so_ happy, Shepard."

With no small amount of effort, the Commander donned a facade of slight indignance coupled with sympathetic worry. "I'm sorry, Tali, but you're drunk. I can't let you do this. You're only going to regret doing something you wouldn't normally do." The female alien looked into his eyes, looking as if she wanted to say several things to him and moving her head and her shoulders in confused motions.

She shook her head slightly, trying to find the same zeal to put behind her words. "I'm not, I'm not _going_ to regret this. It doesn't matter if, if I'm drunk, dammit. I want this. I... want this." Her voice was soft and unsteady; she looked away from him and downwards to his chest. "I want to make you happy. Just me. No one else. I just... I don't _want_ to regret this."

Shepard sighed softly, giving her a look of reassurance. "I know you don't, Tali. I'm flattered, I truly am. But you need to make this sort of decision on a clear mind. If you make a mistake because you couldn't think over your choices and choose with utmost certainty, you'll hate yourself." His own eyes lowered, his gaze darkening in the recalling of events that applied to what he was saying to his friend. _Forever_.

From the corner of his eye, he noted as she continued to look down, unsure of how to proceed. He knew that no species had the ability to keep their mental faculties intact while consuming alcohol; that was the entire purpose of bars. For a moment, neither of them moved a muscle, and only the nauseating beats of alien electronica and the occasional calling of a certain turian who didn't think to come up the stairs punctuated the unspoken tension between the two. Slowly, however, the woman that was seated on Shepard's lap nodded hesitantly at him. He nodded back and called out to Garrus. While waiting for him to respond by coming to meet them, the soldier replaced his personality to match the situation - ice breaker. "Hope you don't mind, Tali, but my legs are falling asleep. They'd be pretty grateful if you gave them a chance to get some air."

Tali looked back into the Commander's eyes, giving him a somewhat blank stare as she tried to analyze the statement. Calculating that she wouldn't arrive at a conclusion before his old friend barged in and caused a whole word of headache for them both, he lightly pumped his leg up and nudged her soft behind, causing the quarian to elicit a gasp of both surprise and epiphany and proceeded to extract herself from his person. He sucked in a large quantity of air at the removal of the live weight; she wasn't heavy, not physically, but the psychological effect of another being placing herself within your personal space brought just as much discomfort as a boulder on your shoulders, minus the backbreaking effect. _Especially if that other being considered it a 'friendly conversation'._

Just as the suited woman got back on her feet - she nearly tripped on an empty bottle of home-grown Tuchankan liquor, a beverage Shepard thought wasn't permitted into the area - Garrus arrived. "Tali, there you are," he exclaimed exasperatedly. From the looks of things, the turian had been running all over the area in his search for the inebriated quarian. _Although I highly doubt all she did was drink._ "You shouldn't have run off like that. I've been looking all over for you." He held a clawed hand onto his neck, panting softly. "I was starting to think that you had actually slipped away from the party and gone off on your own."

"Why would I go anywhere but here?" Tali retorted spitefully, her hands balled into fists. "This is where Shepard is, isn't it? This is where the single greatest man the galaxy has ever known is. Why would you think I would be anywhere else?" Smoothly, she moved closer to the marine and wrapped her arms around one of his possessively. "I don't _want_ to be anywhere else but here. Right here, with him. Just us. Now go away. We don't want _you_ trying to get in the way."

Garrus took a step back in shock at both her gesture and her harsh words. Shepard placed a similar expression of surprise on his face, as was appropriate in the given situation. "Tali, you don't go around and just grab someone like that. Think about how they would react."

"You think the Commander is 'just someone'? He's more important than the entire Citadel Council combined!" The quarian held herself closer to Shepard, and the familiar feeling of soft flesh pressed onto his arm, bringing the soldier no small amount of discomfort. "And just because I'm a quarian doesn't mean I don't have the right to make him happy. And _you_ don't have the right to stop me. I can make him _happy_."

"Oh, boy..." The turian could only sigh softly, shaking his head in dismay. "This isn't good. She really can't hold her liquor." Shepard's gaze darted back at Garrus' eyes at the mention of that. "Listen to reason, Tali. You're not thinking as straight as you sho-"

"And what part did you play in Tali's 'not thinking straight', exactly?" Shepard interrupted, giving his friend a look that he felt was slightly harder than he'd wanted. Garrus' mandible twitched reflexively at his expression.

"I didn't do anything wrong, I swear! It was just that everyone was drinking and having fun, and Tali was just stuck in a corner and sulking about. I noticed that the makeshift bar set up serving a batch of dextro-certified alcohol and-"

"And made her drink it?" The soldier took a step forward, slipping out of the quarian's firm grasp with little difficulty. It was a calculated move; he pressed the issue of her inebriation while not having to worry about the liberated quarian adding unnecessary activity to his mind as he regulated his body's reactions to just blushing and twitching.

Garrus put his hands up in defense, looking panicked in the soldier's apparent ire. "I offered some to her, that's all I did! Come on, Shepard, you know I wouldn't do anything to Tali that I thought would be bad for her." _I know that. I just wish you'd think some of these things through sometimes._ "She told me that she had never tried drinking anything before, with the exception of quarian wine that hardly has any hit to it. She said she'd like to try it, though, and so she did. I didn't think it would affect her so drastically."

He looked at Tali with a hint of guilt, and Shepard took this as a cue to soften his personality. _I've achieved my goal. No need to make him feel any worse._ "How much did you serve her?" he asked with a color of concern, previous tones of anger removed.

"Just a shot, no more than that. She started acting up almost as soon as she put the glass back onto the table." _Hm. That's odd. No beverage ought to cause that level of inebriation that quickly, even if Tali couldn't tolerate alcohol._ From the corner of his eye, he saw the altered quarian rolling her foot over a toppled glass, the same one she almost tripped on. She giggled loudly as her antics caused her to repeat that mistake. Shepard suddenly snapped his head towards the empty container. _Hold on. Could it be-?_

"Garrus," he started slowly, deliberately turning his head back at the turian. "What precisely was the 'dextro-certified' drink you served her?" His colleague blinked, looking up in a way to recall the specific brand of alcohol he had offered Tali.

"I'm not exactly sure. It was an alien race-brand. It's hard to remember how the name sounds. Um... _air_con? No. _ink haul_? No. Hm..."

"Ryncol?"

"Yeah, that's it, I thi-Urk!" The turian was abruptly cut off from finishing that sentence as he was forcefully shoved onto the wall, feet raised a few inches.

"Garrus, you gave Tali a shot of _ryncol_? You idiot; that's the galaxy's hardest drink!" Shepard's hands were holding the alien sniper by his rounded collar, a dangerous glint in his eye. "It's _Krogan_ liquor. Did you know that? That means that krogans feel the hit when they drink it. And their bodies can _regenerate_. Do you even know what that sort of booze can do to a virgin drinker!?" _He doesn't, but I'm sure he has a fairly good inkling. Hm. I hope I'm not overdoing this, but Garrus slipped up even worse than I thought._

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" the turian pleaded fervently. "I didn't mean to give Tali something like that, I swear, Shepard! I didn't know that it was something that bad!"

"Hey, Shepard." Tali had snuck up on Shepard again, and with his hands still pinning the alien up and preventing him from escaping, he flinched as she placed an arm around his torso and rested her hand along his sensitive abdomen. "I _love _it when you shout."

He looked to the female alien that began fondling him again and sighed. "Crap." With a thud, Shepard let go of his friend sooner than he'd hoped. _The situation's changed. I need to make a new plan of action._ "No one can see her like this, Garrus."

The Ex-Spectre looked back at the sniper, who was readjusting his top. "I... I know. But what should we do? Tali's not going to allow herself to be any farther than a few feet from you, and if we try, we both know that she has a shotgun for when she's feeling particularly pissed off at me."

"Hey, here's an idea, boys," Tali chimed in, lifting her other hand to clasp Shepard's cheek. "How about Shepard and I get a room, Garrus leaves us alone, and we continue where we left off?"

Garrus' jaw dropped at the proposal. "T-Tali, you can't-"

"Let's do that," the Commander agreed. The turian's mouth just opened wider.

"Shepard? I, I mean I never knew that-"

"Save it, Garrus. What you know still holds true. Like you said, though, Tali won't go anywhere without me accompanying her. It's the only option we have that I should go somewhere not open to the public with her, and I can't think of a safer place than one of the guest rooms that came with this function hall." Garrus blinked upon hearing the soldier's argument, and seemed to mull over the logic of the proposal. WIth a sigh, he nodded his head in hesitant approval. _He still seems bothered by my aggression. I guess I really did overdo it._ Shepard gave him a pat on the shoulder. "The noise in here was driving me crazy, anyway. I'd rather babysit a wasted quarian than watch our entire crew bumping and grinding each other and making memories that they're going to regret in the morning. Well, at least the ones that'll be able to _remember_ tonight."

Garrus chuckled genuinely, shaking his head. "You know, Shepard, you maybe a killjoy when it comes to having some fun, but no one can ever doubt how right you always are." The Commander nodded at him, satisfied at stabilizing the situation diplomatically. "I'll go back into that sea of sweat and carefree 'bump and grind'-ers. I'll cover for you both if anyone asks." He stepped backwards and walked away from the pair, leaving Shepard alone. With Tali.

"_Hm_..."

"..."

"So, we _are_ getting a room after all, _Commander_?"

"...Yes, Tali. Yes, we are."

The quarian's visor was too thick for Shepard to see anything other than her eyes, but he could almost feel her lips curling up to form a mischievous grin as she spoke: "Bitch'n."

_To Be  
Continued_

**Post Body**

* * *

Thanks go to IgnorantOne whose one-liners I shamelessly used, in this case the very last one of this chapter. Don't hurt me; I asked!


End file.
